Marching On
by Literature work
Summary: Roy is a monster, a monster that needs to be slain. Ishval One Shot. Please Review. WARNING: Does contain suicide related themes so read with caution.


_Authour's note: I know this is a rather dark topic so if you are not ready for it, do not read it. I was just reminded of this part of Roy's life when I was listening to the song One Republic Marching On. I know that's a more inspiring song than what this is, I just pictured what a good music video it would make and I thought of this scene. Since I can't make music videos I decided to write about it instead._

 ** _Marching On_**

The gun in his hands felt so heavy. It sent an ice cold shockwave through his system as he held its cool metal in his gloved hand. It just seemed too distant, too impersonal to be a killing machine. Roy closed his eyes and instantly the memory and heat of his flames came back to him. Yes, it was too impersonal to be a killing machine. It was too cold. He wondered how Riza could do it. No connection at all. Yet, like a snap, a squeeze of the trigger, life was decided by just the twitch of a finger. It should be the same. Roy felt the cool metal press itself against his temple. It should be the same shouldn't it? It should be equivalent. He felt the weight in his hands and the coolness against his temple and tears started to fill his eyes. He clenched them tight as if to keep them contained but they just poured out from his closed eyelids. He felt a sob wrack his chest as his finger quivered against the trigger. He didn't want to die, but he had to. He didn't want to die. Too many lives, it was just too painful. Everyday just seemed to be scorched blacker and blacker by his flames. All of the screams still rang in his ears. All he had to do was take one… one more life then no one else needed to be burned. All he had to do was snap his finger, pull that trigger, one more time. But he didn't want to die. Roy's body shivered and quaked as he felt himself cry. The cold heartless metal clacked beside his ear as it was still pressed against his head. His hand was growing heavy from its weight. Just one more, just one-

"Roy, what do you think you are doing?" he heard the cool, angry voice of Hughes shiver through the tent's doorway. He had hidden himself in the solitude of his quarters as he decided his fate. He didn't want Hughes to intervene, but he had a way of interrupting no matter what. As Roy found his hand slipping, he forced himself to steady it and the cold barrel pressed harder into his temple. Hughes frowned, his dead battleworn eyes glaring at him with disgust he never saw in the man before. "You aren't going to do it. This is, what, your third time trying?"

"How-"

"Don't think I don't know what you are doing Roy, now stop being a fucking idiot and put the fucking gun down," the man ordered so sternly Roy found himself jumping a bit at his anger. In that instant, the man stormed over and before he knew it, he ripped the gun from his hand and kicked him hard in the chest. Roy felt the air knocked out from him as he tumbled back to the sandy dirt of his tent floor. The bullets from the weapon tinkled to the ground as he heard his friend clear it and the heavy clanking of the gun followed them.

"Maes-" Roy argued, his anger sounding weaker with how much he was still shaking from his moment with death. But suddenly the man had him by the collar of his uniform and his eyes were glaring into his with a fire that Roy knew was so rare in the world.

"You fucking idiot. Where do you think this was going to get you in life, Roy?" the man screamed at him. Roy roughly shoved himself away from the man and took few steps back to get clear of any possible fists that the man was so willing to throw.

"Right where I should be Maes!" Roy retorted. "I shouldn't be alive… a monster like me shouldn't be alive…"

"Bullets miss you know," he cut back stiffly.

"I wasn't going to miss, Maes-"

"I didn't mean you," he growled. "You think that when you die, this will all be over? No one will die. Don't make me laugh, Roy. This will keep going until the last man is dead, with or without you." Roy frowned and took in the full rage of his friend. He was quaking, frozen in absolute anger, or what Roy could have mistaken as fear. "Your flames just quicken their death, Roy." there was a crack as Roy found his fist plowing into his friend's jaw. The man's head whipped back and he fell to the floor. He was instantly on top of him, grabbing him by the collar, his fist ready to strike again.

"Don't you dare say that," he shouted. "Don't you dare say that! I can't do this Maes! My flames are nothing but devil's alchemy! They weren't supposed to be used like this. How do you expect me to live like this? Knowing that I did all of this with a snap of my fingers? A fucking snap is all it takes to destroy and entire block. An entire city couldn't take more than ten. So many people, Maes... " Roy felt his grip weakened and his hand gradually began to fall as he started shivering again. A cry caught in his throat and he covered his face with his hand as if to shield his scars from the man. "So many… so many people," he muttered, a sob finally releasing itself and he let go of his friend's collar who hit the ground lightly with a thud. Roy stood up off of the man and walked over to the back of the tent to get his space from Maes, who was staring intently at him with a watchful and cautious stare. His jaw was cut a bit from where he got hit and Roy felt his blood on his knuckles. His fist was shaking from the shock of it, knowing where it came from.

"Roy, you aren't the only one who has taken life. I understand that the magnitudes aren't the same, but we are here. We are in Ishval Roy, you, me, Alex, Riza, we are all here and the only way to change that is finish what we were sent here to do."

"How… how am I supposed to live like this? How are any of us then? Knowing what we did. You have a wife, Hughes."

"I am a different man here than I will ever be back home. I am dead here. This isn't part of my life. Everything I do, I will choke down when I see my wife's smiling face again. I will choke them down because when I get back home, I will be alive again. I will keep marching on, past these fucking bodies, past my fucking commander, to live again," Maes muttered. Roy turned around to look at him and he saw tears forming in the dead eyes of his friend, a faint loving fire burning behind them for his wife back home, for his friend standing right there. Roy closed his eyes to the darkness but the image of burning corpses just appeared behind them again. How did he ever come to this? A hand suddenly rested on his shoulder and he looked over. "Roy, you aren't a monster, you are just dead, but keep marching on with me alright? You have big plans for this country. Keep marching on, Roy, don't let something stupid like a bullet stop you. Get back to the city, choke down all this insanity, and become Fuhrer." Roy felt his eyes water up as he stared into the dark eyes of his friend and his legs started to shake beneath him. He collapsed and Maes caught him as he released all of the guilt he had into the man's shoulder.

"Come on now, you are making my uniform wet," Maes smiled lightly as he patted his back. Roy couldn't talk, all he could do was cry for the all of the lives he took and the one he almost did. He held onto his friend for dear life as his face was burrowed into his shoulder. He was an idiot, like Maes had said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the bullets forgotten in the dirt floor of his tent. It gleamed in the dull light that seeped through the canvas walls. It was cold, nothing like the burning of his flames, and Roy realised he was scared. He was scared of the cold sudden death of a small bullet like that. But more importantly, he was scared of what he had become. He was a monster, deep down he knew that. There was a monster in him that needed to be slain but now, he was dead. Like Maes said, they were all dead. But for now he would keep marching on. There was no reason to kill a corpse.


End file.
